


Guinea Pig

by remanth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Fall, guinea pig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim never actually died on the rooftop and has a plan to lure Sherlock out of hiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guinea Pig

This couldn’t be happening. Not again. There was no way. He’d died, shot himself on the roof all that time ago. There was no way he could be standing there, holding on a gun and wearing a satisfied smirk. John felt his world tremble and rearrange itself yet again. Swallowing hard against the surge of hope, after all if Moriarty came back maybe Sherlock could, John glared hard at his captor. He didn’t bother pulling at the ropes binding him to the chair; they were so tight they were cutting off his circulation. There was no way John was going to wiggle out of them.

“Well, Johnny-boy, here we are again,” Moriarty giggled, waving the gun around for emphasis. “Isn’t this just so much fun? You’re not bored anymore, are you?”

“How did you survive?” John asked, ignoring Moriarty’s questions. “And why come after me now? You got what you wanted. Sherlock is dead and disgraced.”

“Disgraced yes,” Moriarty purred, walking around John and putting his hands on his shoulders. Moriarty leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the shell of John’s ear. “But dead, no. Sherlock isn’t dead at all, Johnny-boy. And we’re playing a little game, my guinea pig. We’re going to see how long it takes for Sherlock to come save you. And if you lose... well, you die.”

John didn’t know how to reply to that at all. He’d been there, watched Sherlock fall. He’d _felt his pulse_ , for god’s sake. The man was dead and thinking that caused John’s stomach to twist painfully. How could Sherlock have survived?

_’It’s a magic trick. Just a magic trick.’_

Hearing the words again from that phone call made John’s heart pick up just a bit. That part had never made sense, even though it seemed like Sherlock was talking about all his deductions. John knew Sherlock was good at planning things and making someone see what he wanted them to see. Was it possible Sherlock wasn’t dead after all?

“I think you’re going to lose, Moriarty,” John finally said, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. “Sherlock is dead. I saw him. I went to his funeral.”

“We’ll see,” Moriarty sing-songed, finally moving away from John after a last squeeze of his shoulders. He sat down on a stool, the gun pointed at John’s chest. He nodded to the video camera that sat on the table, recording the entire scene. “He sees you now, you know. This is going directly to Sherlock’s website. If he’s alive, he’ll come rescue you. You’re his _heart_ after all.”

John didn’t bother replying. He’d seen for himself what he’d meant to Sherlock. Even now, John still believed completely in the detective and knew without a doubt that he wasn’t a fake. He also knew exactly how much Sherlock had meant to him. Funny, while they lived together, it had seemed like they’d have an eternity. An eternity for John to come to terms with what he felt and then act on it. But they didn’t. Time had passed all too quickly and fate had cruelly snatched Sherlock away from him.

Moriarty amused himself by humming different songs but always coming back to Staying Alive. The gun never wavered, always pointing at John’s heart. Moriarty knew Sherlock would come to save John. After all, John was the one he cared for most. His heart. He just had to wait and be patient. Though that was proving far harder than Moriarty thought it would be. He was _bored_. Finally, when he was about to shoot John just to see what the doctor would do, footsteps sounded outside the room they were in.

“And let the show begin,” Moriarty whispered, an evil smile creasing his face. John whipped his head around to the door, mouth dropping open. He couldn’t believe Sherlock was going to come through that door. He just couldn’t. It would hurt far too much if it wasn’t him.

The door opened and a blond man stepped through. His hair was cut close to his head, nearly shaved off. He had clear blue-grey eyes and was wearing an old hoodie and jeans. His eyes swept over the room, lingering on John for just a moment before meeting Moriarty’s eyes. It took John a few moments but when he recognized Sherlock, he sucked in a shocked breath.

“Sherlock?” John murmured, more breath than voice. “You’re alive?”

“Hello Moriarty,” Sherlock’s voice rang out, ignoring John’s question. He couldn’t afford to answer him, to show sentiment. It would be used against him and John. “I have to say I’m surprised to see you alive.”

“Yes, so was Johnny here,” Moriarty grinned, getting up and placing the gun on his chair. He didn’t need it at the moment now that Sherlock was here. All he needed was his words. “My little guinea pig played his role so well. I knew you’d come back for him, Sherlock. How could you not, when you feel as you do?”

“What the hell do you mean?” John snapped, tired of the two men ignoring him. Brown and blue eyes flashed to him for a few seconds, fear in one set and disgust in the other. “What the bloody buggering hell is going on here?”

“Well, don’t you see, Johnny-boy?” Moriarty drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Sherlock came back out of hiding to rescue you. He _loves_ you.”

John turned to Sherlock, unable to form the question burning through his mind. Sherlock held his eyes for a few moments, not confirming but not denying. Moriarty giggled at them, clapping his hands together as if witnessing the best show he’d ever seen. Finally, Sherlock turned back to Moriarty and took a step towards him.

“Let John go,” Sherlock said quietly, a thread of threat in his voice. “You really don’t want to test me.”

“What will you do, dear Sherlock?” Moriarty taunted Sherlock, shaking his head. “We both know you can’t kill me. I complete you. I am the only one who can keep you on your toes.”

While Moriarty gloated, Sherlock moved closer and closer. He knew he would only have one chance since the gun was still within Moriarty’s reach. If he failed, he and John would most likely die. That wasn’t something Sherlock wanted to happen; he couldn’t see John die. He was finally within reach, Moriarty’s eyes widening as Sherlock reached for him. In a quick movement, Sherlock wrapped his hands around Moriarty’s head and twisted sharply. A crack echoed throughout the room and Moriarty dropped, the light leaving his eyes. John made an aborted movement towards Sherlock, trying to get out of the ropes. This was a side John had seen the edges of and it was a bit shocking.

“Want to untie me now?” John asked, keeping his voice calm as Sherlock turned to him. John recognized the look in his eyes, had seen it numerous times on the battlefield. Sherlock was in shock at the moment but it probably wouldn’t last long. After several seconds, Sherlock took out a pocketknife and cut through the ropes binding John’s hands. John massaged life back into them, hissing at the pins and needles. Once he could feel his hands again, John got up and threw his arms around Sherlock’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“I thought you were dead, you bloody git,” John hissed, overcome with relief and anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you make me think you were dead?”

“It was the only way to save you, John,” Sherlock whispered, arms coming up slowly to cradle John to him. Sherlock held on like John was made of the finest spun glass, liable to break at any pressure. He’d never thought this would happen and was happy beyond belief. He’d hoped John would forgive him and it seemed he would. “You, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I had to die for you to live. I spent the time dealing with Moriarty’s men. But I missed the fact that he was still alive. Now that he’s gone and his group is too, I can come back. Come back to you if you want me to.”

“Of course,” John replied, pulling back to give Sherlock a smile. “But I really owe you a punch for all the crap you put me through.”

“I’m sure that’s the least you owe me,” Sherlock agreed, stepping back to allow John room to swing if he chose. John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds, eyes narrowed, before stepping into his space again and pulling his head down. Slowly, John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s in a light, chaste kiss.

“I think it can wait,” John said. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
